


all tied up

by calciseptine



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Begging, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Trust Kink, demisexual daichi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 17:50:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2477066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calciseptine/pseuds/calciseptine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daichi does not have any "unusual" desires and that isn't a problem—until it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all tied up

**Author's Note:**

> This contains more head canons than I can count. >:|
> 
> I would like to thank my waifu faor for being my sounding board and cheerleader, because without them, nothing would ever get done. It is also all their fault that a majority of my stories now contain some shade of kink negotiation. HEALTHY SEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS FTW. /DOUBLE HIGH FIVES EVERYONE WITHIN A TEN MILE RADIUS

Daichi does not have any "unusual" desires when it comes to what he and Suga do in the bedroom—or outside of it, when the right mood strikes. Throughout all of adolescence and now into his early adulthood, Daichi has never found one thing more particularly erotic than another. This is not to say that he does not prefer certain things certain days, nor that specific acts do not have their specific charm; it's just that whatever he does, from hand jobs to blow jobs to anal, he wants to do it with Suga.

"You're a hopeless romantic," Suga teases when Daichi tells him this, in that safe space that surrounds them, afterwards. One of Suga's is curled against Daichi's bearded cheek, scratching mindlessly at the thick stubble. "You know it's the same for me, right?"

"Yeah," Daichi breathes.

Suga smiles fondly, his dimples pronounced, a moment before he pulls Daichi down for a warm, familiar kiss. It isn't as toe-curlingly memorable as their first kiss—shared beneath the night sky years ago, cicadas humming in the warm summer air—nor is it as passionate as the ones they traded less than five minutes past, but Daichi quietly prefers these mindless things. He doesn't care if that makes him old-fashioned, or boring—

Except he _does_ care.

Daichi likes sex. He is particularly inclined to sex that involves Suga, and likes whatever kind of sex he has with Suga that Suga wants. For the past seven years, Daichi has been painfully and wholly attracted to Suga—to his deceptively sweet countenance, to his wicked smiles, to his coy and beguiling eyes—and he expects that he will remain that way for the rest of his life. It does not matter how they get there or how long it takes, and it does not matter whether Suga is above him or below him, around him or inside him or against him. As long as Suga is turned on, Daichi is turned on too.

The real problem is not sex. Sex with Suga is easy, natural. The real problem is that Suga, for the entirety of their sexual relationship, has always determined the how.

It does not bother Daichi that Suga is the one to suggest that Daichi pinch his nipples or pull his hair, to eat him out or spank his ass until the skin turns pink. Indeed, Suga's curiosity and boldness are traits Daichi loves and admires; as soon as Suga points out the direction, Daichi is more than willing to follow that path. Daichi isn't shy about initiating sex, and does so just as frequently as Suga—it's just that Suga always approaches Daichi with something new to try, excitement in his honey-colored eyes as he tells Daichi honestly and earnestly what he wants.

And Daichi has never started that conversation.

It is not fear that plagues Daichi—Suga loves Daichi as completely and unwaveringly as Daichi loves him—but he is constantly aware of that particular relationship dynamic, an awareness that only grows every time Suga asks for something new. Daichi will do anything Suga asks of him. If Suga wants Daichi to bind his wrists and ankles, or if he wants Daichi to finger him until he sobs, or if he wants to wear a plug all day so Daichi can fuck him the moment he gets home from work, Daichi will do it and do it gladly. Daichi is just worried that Suga, as inventive and adventurous as he is, expects Daichi to approach him as well.

So Daichi does what he always has when he is confronted with a problem: he finds a solution.

It takes a couple of weeks for Daichi to find something that he and Suga have not done before, or done some variation of, that is not so extreme that it makes Daichi wary of asking. A lot of the play he sees on the BDSM websites he visits are things he can imagine Suga requesting—like cock rings and knife play and suspension—but there is nothing he feels comfortable articulating.

Then, just as his frustration has built to the breaking point, Daichi sees a picture of a naked woman bound in array of decorative knots. Intrigued, Daichi clicks on the associated link.

_Alright,_ Daichi thinks as he scrolls through the new website. _This, I can do._

Daichi orders a long length of red rope off the internet the same day and, for the next month, spends his free time watching instructional videos and practicing his knots. Daichi and Suga have done mild forms of bondage before—blindfolds and cloth gags, handcuffs and a spreader bar—but shibari comes with a different set of rules and constant warnings. While shibari focuses on aestheticism, some of the more complex ties cannot be held for more than a few minutes and, very much the amateur, Daichi steers clear of them. Daichi doesn't know if he and Suga will ever use the more complicated and dangerous forms, but he takes the warnings seriously. When he imagines accidentally hurting Suga, Daichi's inside churn with guilt.

Nearly two months after he implements his plan, Daichi feels prepared enough to ask Suga for something new. He waits until after dinner on Saturday night—Suga doesn't work on Sundays and Daichi allows himself to sleep in instead of heading for the tea fields before dawn—before he reaches across the low table to wrap his fingers around Suga's wrist. Daichi likes how Suga's thin wrist fits easily within his wide, callused grip.

"There's something I want to ask you," Daichi says, unfaltering.

Suga looks up from his papers with a smile—he's grading chemistry exams for his second year students—ands prompts, "And what is that?"

It is a small miracle that Suga has not uncovered Daichi's secret. Keeping secrets has always been difficult for Daichi, especially in concern to someone as perceptive and as precocious as Suga, but he's managed it somehow, and the shock that colors Suga's face delights Daichi more than he thought it would.

"You want to tie me up?" Suga asks, voice thin with surprise.

"If you want me to," Daichi responds.

"If I want you to?" Suga repeats. His eyes are wide and wild. He makes a choked noise, like he wants to laugh, but his lungs don't have enough air. It's odd, yet exhilarating, to see Suga's composure slip.

"Yes." Daichi squeezes Suga's wrist—not hard, just firmly.

"Oh my god, Daichi, I thought that you didn't—" But Suga cuts himself off suddenly and exhales sharply through his nose. Daichi sees the loose confusion in his shoulders tighten into conviction, as Suga instead continues, "Yes, Daichi, _yes._ "

Daichi leans across the table to take a kiss and Suga meets him eagerly. Relief settles into Daichi's bones. This is no different from any other time. Their kisses grow deeper and wetter with every passing second; by the time their urgency demands they leave the kitchen and stumble down the hall, groping desperately for the warm flesh beneath their obstructive clothes, Daichi is completely hard. Daichi mourns the loss of Suga's skin beneath his palms when they part to undress, but it allows enough sense to creep back in, reminding him to grab the rope from its hiding place. 

Daichi is disconcerted to find that the rope feels foreign in his hands, despite all the weeks he practiced with it.

"So?" Suga murmurs, syrupy sweet, when they're both standing naked in their bedroom. His normally straight hair is mussed and his skin glows in the dim lamplight. Daichi has known for years that Suga is far less innocent than he pretends to be, but the act is a good one, and Suga has spent a long time tailoring his performance. As with all of Suga's charms, Daichi may not be helpless to resist, but he is very disinclined. "How do you want me?"

"Spread you legs," Daichi decides. "And hold your wrists together in front of you."

Despite the rope's strangeness, the various ties Daichi's learned come quickly and easily, buoyed by the swift efficiency of Daichi's muscle memory. It's terrifyingly real, and thrilling, to be binding these familiar knots. The dyed red jute is much more beautiful over Suga's pale skin than it was in Daichi's farm-roughened hands. 

Daichi is unaware of how much time it takes him to complete his work, but Suga reacts strongly to the act; he is breathing hard, his ribs expanding hugely beneath Daichi's fingertips, and his cock jumps every time Daichi tests the strength of a knot he just secured. Suga has always been incredibly invested in the act, whereas Daichi is invested solely in Suga's pleasure; they are no different in this, and they're both shaking by the time Daichi announces that he's finished.

"Please," Suga whimpers as the last bit of rope slips from Daichi's hands. It's the same tone Suga uses when he's ready for the next step, for the last straw. "Daichi, _please._ "

Instead of giving into Suga's pleas, Daichi takes a step back. He had known, objectively, that Suga would look good tied up. Shibari was as well known for its aesthetic value as much as it was for bondage; this was why Daichi had chosen red rope into of the more common tan or white. Crimson had always looked good on the various models used in the instructional videos, though none of those models had looked as good as Suga looks now, flushed and aroused and trembling.

Daichi is, and always has been, well aware of his bias.

Still, the thought of Suga in nothing but rope did little to prepare Daichi for the reality of it. He is overwhelmed by much he loves and desires Suga when they try something new together; this awe is unsurprising, of course, but no less incredible, every time.

"Daichi," Suga whimpers, pulling Daichi out of his head. "Daichi, please, I need you—"

Daichi swallows the tail end of Suga's plea, forcing Suga's jaw wide as he curls his tongue against Suga's tongue. Sighing prettily, Suga dissolves in Daichi's hands like finely spun sugar, sweetly and easily. Daichi has been addicted to Suga since the moment they met and knows, with a certainty that resides in the marrow of his bones, that he will never tire of kissing Suga.

They have to part when they lower themselves onto their futon. Though Daichi did not bind Suga's legs, he still holds Suga's elbows steady as they descend. Suga's wrists are bound and there is a short length of rope connecting that knot to the noose around Suga's neck. The knots have been tied in such a way that they will not cut off any air; regardless, Daichi is cautious, making sure Suga keeps his balance and having the sense to double check that the pair of trauma shears he bought online with the rope are within reach.

Spread out on their bed and illuminated by the soft, warm light of their bedroom lamp, Suga is dreamlike and ethereal. The edges of his body melt into the white sheets; it as though the only thing keeping him from disappearing completely is the rope that holds him. His eyelids are heavy and only a sliver of his honey-colored irises can be seen beneath the tawny fan of his short, spiky lashes. He is loose and comfortable beneath Daichi's greedy gaze, a coquettish smile stretching his lips despite the urgency he had moments before.

"So selfish," Suga whines, playing petulant, as he draws his legs up, notching his blunt kneecaps into the imperceptible curve of Daichi's waist. "All you ever do is stare."

Daichi grips Suga's thighs—Suga is so lean that Daichi's palms cover the outer sides completely—and presses their bodies together roughly, intimately. Suga gasps at the sudden drag of their erections together. A flush immediately blossoms in the hollow of Suga's throat and seeps down his moon-pale chest. Daichi cannot help but to lean forward and drag his bearded cheek across the blush to make it go from pink to red.

"You're the worst," Suga half-moans, half-laughs as he trembles. "The absolute worst!"

"I love you," Daichi replies.

"See?" Suga exclaims before he bites at Daichi's bottom lip. Daichi's hips stutter forward with the sharp and quick pain. "You're so terrible. You—ahh—you spoil me!"

"I know." Daichi rolls his hips just to watch the tendons in Suga's neck jump. He has always found Suga extremely attractive, since they became friends in their first year of senior high. Nothing has changed in the decade they've been together; Daichi still cannot, and has no absolutely no desire to, take his eyes off his partner. "I want to spoil you."

"Really?" Suga giggles breathlessly, nibbling and licking at Daichi's mouth, cheeks, and jaw. "Because I would be really spoiled if you fucked me."

"If that's what you want," Daichi says.

Suga opens up easily as Daichi slowly stretches him with one, two, three generously lubed fingers. There is no rope over Suga's hole or around Suga's cock; Daichi is sure that Suga would have liked that, but it Daichi had thought that it might be too much for their first time. So instead, Daichi had looped the rope around the tops of Suga's thighs like a harness. It follows the natural lines of where Suga's legs meets the trunk of his body, cutting into the flesh right below his buttocks and emphasizing the curves of Suga's ass. This is where Daichi anchors his fingers between the rope and Suga's body, his knuckles pressed so tightly against Suga's skin he might leave bruises. He can control Suga's squirming hips so easily this way—not that he needs to, as Suga instinctively locks his ankles in the small of Daichi's back and cants his pelvis upwards.

Daichi's cockhead slides against Suga's slippery hole.

" _Fuck,_ " Daichi hisses between his clenched teeth.

At this point, Daichi is too keyed up to tease. He pushes inside Suga with one easy thrust and begins to fuck Suga in earnest, as honest in this as he is in all things. He twists his hips with every upward roll so his dick relentlessly stimulates Suga's prostate. Small, punched-out gasps escape Suga's slack mouth each time, a steady stream of _unh unh unh_ that drives Daichi to go faster and harder.

"Dai—chi—" Suga begs. " _Please—_ "

Suga's fingernails dig sharply into the hairy swell of Daichi's pectorals; even that is too far for him, his shoulders and neck arched to accommodate the restrictions. Tied as he is, Suga is unable to fist his own dick. When Daichi looks down at their joined bodies, following the long line of diamond shaped knots, he watches Suga's cock bounce against his lower stomach with each thrust. It is as red as the rope and shiny with pre-come.

"No," Daichi denies, tightening his hold. His fingers feel bloodless and numb. "Not yet."

Despite Daichi's refusal—or perhaps, because of it—Suga begins to beg. His begging is a litany of pretty pleases and drawn-out profanity that weaves in and out of cajoling bribes and mild threats. He is as unceasing as Daichi is resolute. Daichi has known Suga long enough to understand that Suga's begging is just another facet of their sexual relationship. If Suga really wanted something specific, he would drop the act and tell Daichi honestly; if he was uncomfortable with something Daichi had done, he would use his safe-word.

So Daichi ignores Suga and his begging, and focuses on the task at hand. He is determined to make Suga come untouched and, while rare, it's happened before. Daichi likes the twist of shock on Suga's face when he manages it. He also loves how Suga trembles in his embrace afterwards, oversensitive and boneless, as pride and affection fill Daichi's heart as warmly as new blood.

Daichi is right about Suga's impending orgasm. It is swift and vicious; Suga's entire frame tenses with its arrival, his muscles locking as come shoots up his chest and belly. As he shudders, Suga's ass tightens around Daichi's cock. Yet this is not what triggers Daichi's orgasm; as hopelessly romantic as Daichi is, it is the blissful look of love and satisfaction that Suga gives him that pushes Daichi over the edge.

With a grunt, Daichi pushes in as deeply as possible. He shudders as the tension in his balls rises sharply, plateaus, and releases. Suga had told him once, years ago, that he liked the slow leak of semen coming out of him after sex and Daichi has never found a reason to not indulge. If Suga wants to keep a piece of him inside, Daichi is helpless to do anything but oblige.

Afterwards, Daichi leans back to catch his breath and waits until his cock is too soft to stay inside Suga's body. Suga whines pathetically when he pulls out: from loss, rather than discomfort.

"Shhh," Daichi whispers as he runs his hand down Suga's sweat-tacky side. "Let me take care of you."

Daichi tries valiantly to undo the knots, but any slack they may have had has disappeared and Daichi's fingers are still clumsy from sex. He reaches for the trauma shears after a few minutes of vain struggle. The scissors cut through the rope with ease. Suga releases a small sigh once Daichi has pulled all the tangled bits of rope from Suga's body and set it in a neat pile by their bed. He wipes the last traces of come off Suga's torso with a discarded shirt and, with more care than one would expect of someone so broad and heavily built, he checks every inch of Suga's skin.

It is not worry that prompts Daichi to examine Suga's wrists and neck and thighs. This exploration is less stressful, yet more cautious, than simple worry. If Daichi has to put a name to it, he would perhaps call it awareness; he needs to take stock of Suga's bruises and scrapes and be mindful of them until Suga can fully heal. He has to pay attention to these kind of things, because Suga, who enjoys the lingering soreness Daichi leaves behind, often pays them no heed. 

"Mmmm," Suga hums contentedly once Daichi finishes and lies down beside him, their calves entwined and knees knocking together beneath the sheets. There are a few lines on Suga's body, but the red indentations will fade within the hour. "Did you like that?"

"I like everything I do with you," Daichi replies softly. "Did you like it?"

"I did," Suga murmurs. His smile is small but open; there is nothing but honesty in it. "But I always like being tied up. Do you like to tie me up?"

A thread of confusion runs into the warm, mellow atmosphere between them as Daichi reiterates, "I like everything I do with you."

Suga laughs gently, almost soundless, before he leans forward and presses his lips against the column of Daichi's throat. The kiss is dry and warm, and Suga lingers for several heartbeats, as though he were giving his affection enough time to seep into Daichi's skin. Daichi feels his momentary puzzlement melt away beneath the warmth of Suga's fondness.

"I like everything I do with you too," Suga says.

.

Sundays are lazy days spent doing nothing, a ritual that Daichi and Suga established when they first moved in together. As adults, their responsibilities are less flexible than they were as adolescents; now, they have to make time for one another since their lives run on strict, different schedules. Daichi is in the fields by the time Suga rouses and, in twilight when Suga returns from town, Daichi is drowsy, clinging to consciousness so he can spend a few hours with Suga before Suga laughs and pushes him into bed.

"I'll be in after I'm done with my papers," Suga promises. Sometimes Daichi wakes up enough to curl around Suga's body as he slides in next to him on the futon, but mostly, Daichi sleeps too heavily to notice such a subtle movement. On nights like these, Suga burrows into the soft heat of Daichi's side and twines his limbs around Daichi's body like seaweed from the ocean.

(Their brief nights and full Sundays are more than what they had when Suga went to university in Sendai, working tirelessly for his double major in chemistry and education. He took the train from the prefecture capital to return to their small mountain hometown every Friday night, spend two precious days with Daichi in the Sawamura family home, and leave every Sunday evening. It had been a long four years but they were as stubborn as much as they were in love, and the distance had been difficult, but not insurmountable.)

Though one of their Sunday rules is that they set no alarms, Daichi always inevitably wakes with the sun. He lingers in bed as the dawning sun turns the traditional, rice paper doors peach. Suga, who always has difficulty getting out of bed, mumbles something unintelligible and buries his nose into Daichi's chest, fingers flexing reflexively against Daichi's skin, mouth slack and damp. An unstoppable bubble of affection swells beneath Daichi's breastbone at the sight.

Daichi remains in bed for as long as his body will let him. Their futon smells like sweat and sex and _them_ ; it is a familiar and comforting smell, and Daichi breathes it in, slow and deep. He drifts in that pleasant, timeless place between wakefulness and sleep, mindful only of Suga's heartbeat beneath his palm and Suga's body against his own. Relinquishing Suga and the contentment associated with their marriage bed is always hardest part of Daichi's morning, but even Daichi cannot long ignore the restlessness that builds in his limbs from lying still, nor his full and demanding bladder. He kisses Suga's milky shoulder gently before extricating himself from the cocoon of their soft, layered sheets. Suga, who will sleep for another few hours, does not stir.

After Daichi relieves himself, brushes his teeth, and pulls on a pair of worn sweatpants, he shuffles into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. Before he moved to the countryside to live with his grandparents, in the spring before his first year of senior high, Daichi did not drink much tea. Working on the farm had changed that.

"Tea is in your blood, boy," his grandfather used to say.

Whether his grandfather was being literal—which seemed possible, considering how much tea he consumed in a day—or if he was referring to the farming lifestyle that drew him away from the city back to the countryside, Daichi does not know. It was probably both, knowing his grandfather.

After Daichi has drained his second cup, he begins to cook breakfast, something he had picked up from his grandmother. She had been a traditionalist when it came to food, scoffing at the cereal Daichi had become accustomed to while growing up in Sendai, and taught him how to prepare a wide variety of dishes. Sometimes he wonders how she had known what to prepare him for in regards his future, back when he was fifteen and still unaware of what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, how she knew that he would love to cook almost as much as he loved to farm, teaching him how to build a meal, how to provide for others, and take satisfaction from those tasks.

It doesn't take long for Daichi to throw some rice and water into the rice cooker, prepare a small batch of miso, and heat up a couple of pans—the rectangular pan for the tamagoyaki and a small skillet for mackerel—and by the time he is finished, Suga is shuffling slowly into the kitchen. His hair is a tangled mess and his eyelids are droopy.

"Good morning," Daichi greets.

"G'mornin'," Suga slurs as he steps into Daichi's personal space and rubs his nose against Daichi's bare shoulder. Daichi laughs at his partner's sluggishness; Suga would sleep all day given the chance.

"Can you take these to the table?" Daichi asks, gesturing to the bowls of rice and plates of food on the counter. "I'm going to make another pot of tea."

Suga mumbles an unintelligible affirmative, steals a slice of carefully rolled tamagoyaki from one of the plates, and carries all the dishes to the table in two trips. He had been a server throughout all of university and can balance a truly staggering amount of dishware. Daichi has little doubt that, if fully cognizant, Suga could have carried everything to the table all at once.

They eat their meal together slowly and silently, revealing in the warmth of room and natural sounds of the countryside trickling through the opened shoji doors. Their traditional home is almost a century old, and despite the downfalls that come with owning property built in the early Showa period, Daichi is still swept away by its enchantment. With a cooling cup of tea between his palms, Daichi watches the way the heavy trees move in the wind as Suga, a slow and methodical eater, finishes his breakfast.

"You are such an old man," Suga teases as he piles the empty plates and bowls. Outside, a wind chime made of hollowed bamboo stalks clacks together.

"I am not," Daichi protests.

"An old soul then," Suga amends with a smile. His dimples, sweet and deep, let him get away with more than he should. "Staring at the outside world and composing haiku inside your head."

Daichi feels his cheeks heat up. He has attempted to write poetry several times—once in high school for an assignment, twice after graduation as a surprise for Suga—and he it was something he did not have a natural talent for. Despite this, Daichi knows that Suga has the evidence of his endeavors squirreled away in a box somewhere, for blackmail or sentimentality, Daichi doesn't particularly know, or care. Suga has always known where to draw the line.

"But that isn't what I wanted to talk about," Suga says. "I actually wanted to talk about last night."

Despite himself, Daichi's eyes widen in surprise and his body momentarily tenses up, his fingers tightening around the yunomi tea cup in his hands. This shock, however, lasts for less than a second; it is unusual, but not extraordinary, for Suga to bring up sex at the kitchen table.

(Or to have sex on the kitchen table, for that matter.)

"I liked it," Suga continues. His voice gets softer, as it always does when he's being honest. "I like being tied up. Being unable to move the way I normally do makes everything feel more intense. And I trust you. I can turn off my brain for a little bit and let you take control, and I know that you'll make me feel good. Honestly, I don't know what you get out of it—you're the one who has to do all the work."

Daichi shrugs and replies, "I like taking care of you."

"And I like when you take care of me." Suga takes the cup out of Daichi's hands and replaces it with his own hand. His hand seems small and delicate in comparison to Daichi's; in truth, their hands are roughly the same size, but Daichi's palms are wider and his fingers thicker. Suga's skin is soft too, the exact opposite of Daichi's, which is rough with calluses.

"Did you think it was strange?" Daichi asks, doubt worming its way into his brain as he stares at their entwined hands. What they did last night could be considered odd, Daichi supposes, but—

"That was hardly the strangest thing we've done," Suga says, finishing Daichi's thought aloud. "And what's strange to some people is normal to others. I don't care what other people think about what we do together. It's just—what I care about is that what we do together is something we're both comfortable with."

Alarm rises in Daichi's chest, and when his eyes snap up to meet Suga's, that alarm must show on his face, because Suga immediately shakes his head.

"I wanted it," Suga reassures him. "I thought my brain was going to explode when you brought the rope out. Having you tie me up like that—I felt like a present. Like I was something special for you to unwrap."

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," Daichi says.

Suga inhales sharply, a hiss of air between his teeth, as though in pain. "And then you say things like that," Suga all but whines, his eyelashes fluttering against the swell of his reddening cheeks. "Do you know how hard it is to have a conversation with you?"

Daichi leans forward, bent double over the table, and kisses Suga's thumb, where the knuckle protrudes from Daichi's clasped hands.

"You're impossible," Suga gripes. "I'm trying to have a serious heart to heart, because I want to know why, after all this time, last night was the first time you came to me with a new idea, and you're so distracting—"

"I thought you wanted me to," Daichi interrupts, because if he doesn't say it now, in the easy light of day, he may never say it again. Despite this, the next three words are nearly impossible to form, and he struggles to let them leave his mouth. "I was—worried."

"Worried?"

Daichi shrugs helplessly. He can barely keep eye contact with Suga despite the fact that he knows Suga would never mock or ridicule his insecurities; trust can be hard, even with the one person Daichi trusts the most.

"Oh, Daichi," Suga says, as softly and warmly as the summer wind moving through the trees outside. "I worry about it too."

"You?" Daichi can't help but question incredulously. Daichi has always thought of himself as an assertive person, but Suga's confidence has always been bright and unwavering, and often made other people pale in comparison.

"You're not the only worry wart in this relationship, as much as I like to pretend otherwise." One corner of Suga's full, expressive mouth tilts upwards. "I know that you don't care, one way or another—I _know_ you don't have preferences—but sometimes I doubt my conviction. Sometimes I wonder if I'm pushing you—"

"But I want to," Daichi protests. "These things you want, I want them too."

"Because it's me!" Suga blurts. "I worry that you're only doing what I want because _I_ want it, or if you would prefer not to do it at all, or—"

"Koushi," Daichi interjects. "Koushi, I can say no to you. If I was uncertain, or unwilling, I would say no."

"But you haven't," Suga points out.

"I would say no," Daichi reassures him, "but I can't imagine ever wanting to. I want to do it all—as long as it's with you. As long as you want me too."

"And I want you too." Suga smiles tenderly, if not wryly. "I know you're different from me. I know that you're turned on because it's me, because you love me. To you, it's the same thing, but it's different for me, you know?"

"I do," Daichi murmurs, because he does. Daichi's arousal has always been tied directly to his feelings—it's impossible for him to be physically attracted to someone who he doesn't know and trust—but Daichi knows that Suga's sexuality doesn't have the same parameters. "I know you understand me, just like I understand you, and I don't care what we do, as long as it's you and me. But—sometimes—don't you want me be the one who approaches you?"

"No," Suga answers immediately.

"You're not bored?"

"No," Suga answers again, though more forcefully. "Daichi—think of all the things we've done together. All of it. How can you be worried that you're not adventurous enough for me? You're more open than anyone I know! You don't even blink when I come to you with something new, and you always say yes. How can you think that I'm bored?"

"Maybe not bored," Daichi murmurs. He feels his mouth twist in consternation as he thinks of all the times he's been called mature, responsible, dependable. None of these traits are bad traits to have, but they're plain and steady compliments. "Perhaps just tired of the routine?"

"I love you," Suga declares. "We could have sex missionary-style every day for the rest of our lives and I would be happy because I would be with you. I love _you_ , Daichi. I love the sex we have together, too, but you could say no to everything I have ever suggested or will suggest and it wouldn't matter. I would still love you as much as I love you right now. Nothing could lessen my love for you, nothing at all."

It truly astonishes Daichi, at times like this, how deeply he loves Suga. He cherishes the simple "I love you's" that they exchange every day in passing, as well as the ardent declarations that typically happen while they have sex, but those words don't always have the same impact, even if the passion behind them never wavers. But this moment feels as powerful as the first, when they laid together beneath the stars, and stripped their hearts and bodies bare. It makes Daichi's chest tighten even as his heart expands.

"I thought we were trying to have a conversation," Daichi croaks—his throat is dry.

"Were we?" Suga murmurs, doe-eyed. There is sunlight in his hair, bleaching the pale strands white. He is as beautiful as the first day Daichi laid eyes on him. "Was that what we were trying to do?"

Later, Daichi tries to remember when he let go of Suga's hand. He knows must have, for he stood up and walked over to the other side of the low table, but he does not remember giving up such simple contact. All he does remember is that one moment he is bereft, and the next Suga is in his lap, Suga's mouth desperate against his own. It is as though they have never touched each other before that moment and despite being untrue, it certainly feels that way: the air crackles between them and electricity sparks beneath their skin.

They both gasp when they come back into contact.

Daichi and Suga revel in their happiness all morning. They lie side by side on the wooden floor, uncaring of how it bruises the thin skin over their bones, too caught up in one another to notice such dull pains. Daichi's over-brimming happiness demands that he frequently breaks away to laugh in joy, and in love, but he immediately mourns the temporary distance he has created, and quickly returns to Suga. It is a vicious cycle, and after a time, his agony and bliss are indistinguishable from another. He never wants this moment to end, and at the same time, knows it must. Daichi touches every inch of Suga's skin that he can and presses his body as closely as he can, thigh to thigh and chest to chest. He slides his mouth over Suga's mouth and digs his fingers into Suga's soft flesh, but even like this, he is not close enough.

He will never be close enough.

"I love you," Daichi whispers, again and again, as they kiss and kiss and kiss. "I love you, I love you, I love you—"

And while he will never doubt that Suga loves him as much as he loves Suga, Daichi will always marvel that anyone else can the way that he feels—infinite yet singular, boundless yet contained—when Suga cradles his jaw in his deceptively fragile hands, and understands.


End file.
